


The Queen of Wolves

by QueenJonrya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jon Snow, Elia saved her children, F/M, Jon/Arya centric, Rebellion still happened, Sibling Incest, Telepathy, they hate their dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenJonrya/pseuds/QueenJonrya
Summary: "She sang the next verse, this time it was about forbidden love"There are certain people you shouldn't fall in love with, and often times the line between duty and love is a painful one to tread.





	1. The Longing of Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pandachanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandachanda/gifts).



**Arya Stark**

She sat at the feast hall amongst the newcomers. Jon’s Freefolk, and her band of outlaws that had ridden north with her. Almost everyone around her had drunk as much as they could stomach, some were determined to push their limits. She could not, fearing the inebriation the drink would bring her, so instead she held the same horn of ale in one hand while petting Ghost’s head with the other as he peacefully slept on her lap. 

Laughter and japes filled the room, soft giggles escaped her at some of the jokes she heard. Jon’s eccentric friend Tormund started to sing bawdy songs in the old tongue, of men stealing spearwives. Soon his friend a man with a large scar running down his cheek took over the singing, plucking his small psaltery. He sung of an old bard from beyond the wall, who stole a Stark lord’s daughter and left a winter rose upon her bed. His milky blue eyes peered into her soul once he finished.

“Does a southern girl like you know any songs?” holding out the instrument to her. It was a challenge, and he met to offend her by claiming her to be southern.

A soft smile graced her face, _this_ was not a game she intended to lose. Laying down her horn for the first time she removed her hand from Ghost’s head and she reached for the psaltery. The direwolf seemed to notice the loss of her touch as he whined softly rubbing his furry cheek against her knees in search of her warm hands before settling down again. 

“Aye. I do, I learnt a great many songs in Braavos” she plucked the string’s thinking of the light airy tune the Merling Queen taught her and soon she began to sing, her voice soft a sweet filled the room, as everyone’s attention settled upon her. It was a joyful song, bawdy and lewd, not that any of them would understand, they did not speak the tongue. The smile on her face quickly became sly and impish in nature as she caught the eye of Jon. He had just entered again after slipping out quietly earlier, her hert grew warm when their eyes met, as though a drop of sunlight fell from the sky and settled within her soul. She sang the next verse, this time it was about forbidden love and the heat filled moments of fulfilment the lovers found in the dark away from prying eyes. All the hall looked at her with adoration in their eyes, for the lethal girl who rode into battle upon a direwolf, the woman who looked as lovely as a single rose growing from a sheet of rough stormy terrain . The unassuming girl who sang so sweetly at dinner her voice lonely and melancholic. The Winter Rose, The She-wolf of Winterfell. Their fierce Queen of Wolves. The song came to an end her voice quietening as the strings she plucked echoed their last notes around the hall.

Once the room grew silent they started to shower her with complements. They thought her voice beautiful, the song enchanting. _Arya Horseface could not sing like this, she could not capture the hearts of men the way I have captured yours. She yelled out words to a vague tune and had the features of a boy._

“The song, what was it about” Tormund scratched his beard, bits of chicken falling out and onto the table as he gazed past her no doubt eyeing Brienne who sat amongst the rest of the Brotherhood. 

“Nothing much. Just an innocent song of a woman taking her lover...and the way his eyes hood over as he writhes beneath her in pleasure” chokes were the next sound that filled the room, cheeks flushed various shades of red and Arya once more looked to Jon who had now taken his seat two tables down, his cup was raised to his lips and he seemed unable to move.

 _Does your mind conjure up the images I want it to big brother?_ The men were shocked and soon they guffawed at her audacity. She leaned forwards returning the unnamed freefolk bard his instrument and resumed running her hands through Ghost’s fur.

“Where’d a fancy lass like you learn a song like that?” a young man with pale hair peered over at her.

“In the company of Braavos’ courtesans” she could practically hear Jon’s eyes twitch at the thought of his little sister being a courtesan. 

“Ha. You must have at least hundred guards stationed around your sister’s room King Crow! If you don’t one of us may try to make a spearwife out o’her. I’ve seen her with a blade, any man can get strong pups on his one I am sure” they laughed and looked over at her, no doubt thinking of what they would gain from stealing her as Bael did the The old Stark's daughter. _You can never give me wolf pups, you are no direwolves._  

“There will be no guards stationed outside her room. I can assure you all any man who tries to steal her will end up tongueless eunuchs, if not by her hands than mine” Ghost suddenly awoke leaping from the floor, taking the comforting weight of his head from her lap. Once he stood upon the table he walked around it, avoiding the food, but happily knocking over horns of ale onto men’s laps. He looked each man in the eyes with his burning red orbs a bared his teeth his master’s emotion clear. Ghost stood still once he reached where an unassuming dark haired bastard sat, his chest rumbled with enough force that it could be heard. Arya stood from her seat and glided two tables down to where Jon was. 

 _Will you claim me brother, the same way Ghost did Nymeria._ She sat beside him and engaged in friendly conversation with Lord Davos, she liked the old man, his white hairs and soft eyes comforted her. Despite all the hell she survived she felt as though she still had a kindly old patriarch bestowing her with fatherly love. A ungloved hand gripped her’s under the table and a far less agitated Ghost made his way down the hall towards her, laying his head on her lap once more as he drifted off into slumber.

 _You loved me when I was Arya Underfoot, Lord Stark’s 'ugly' daughter and now I am as beautiful as the maiden herself. I loved you when you were a powerless bastard and now you’re the King of Winter. I don’t care for their attention brother. Claim me like the wolf you are. We already are one soul and one heart. Ghost and Nymeria have already made us one flesh, claim me as I claim you_. She gripped his hand tighter and stroked Ghost’s ear, Hoping. Praying, that Jon heard her. His thumb moved softly, rubbing circles around her scarred knuckles. 

_Let us be a King of winter and his Queen of Wolves_


	2. A Shackle upon Thy Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Jon's state of mind.

**Jon Snow**

He had a box in his solar, where he kept Arya’s marriage proposals. He knew he should accept one of them. He knew  that in the world he lived in Lords sold off their daughters, sisters, and cousins for political alliances but he could not. Every scroll he held he saw another wax sigil, House Cerwyn, House Karstark, even House Blackwood of the Riverlands sent letters of proposal. He hated them, he hated that they wrote to him believing themselves worthy of her, and believing he would use his heart as a currency to gain alliances. He flexed his hand, itching to grab Longclaw by the hilt. _Mayhaps I can bring forth ribbons of blood from their throats like I almost did Bolton Bastard_. 

He wondered when he started to become so dark, when he decided that sometimes setting aside honour is acceptable, death and resection changed him, there was a darkness that settled in his chest, that tried to unfurl and claim him all but she kept it at bay. She always did, He thought of her eyes, thousands of grey shades colliding like the fractured surface of a frozen lake. Her smile, she didn’t smile much but when she did it pulled ay his heartstrings it nourished his soul the way water nourished wheat. 

 _It’s Ghost’s fault, he took Nymeria for a mate and now I think unbrotherly thoughts_. Adding the latest marriage proposals into the the pile of sealed scrolls, closed the box and walked towards his desk, ready to reread the reports on grain and the ravens from the wall. There was no time to spend on the politics of marriage alliances, not when the lives of many were at stake. A small knock sounded at his window before it swung open and a small figure came tumbling in. He grabbed Longclaw by the hilt, prepared to swing at the intruder. 

“You have inspired great worry in me Jon. Is this is how you plan to defend yourself from an assassin brother?” Arya stood from the floor and discarded her cloak throwing it over one of the chairs in the room before moving around the desk to the side he was on and sitting on the table before him. 

“You see, I don't expect assassins to climb in through my window in the dead of night little sister” she smirked. 

“Which is precisely why they will” he looked at her, no longer in the northern clothing she wore at yesterdays feast, but in one of the unusual gown/tunic contraptions, a part of him thought she had cut a gown to end at her mid thighs but the hem at the bottom was artfully sewn and embroidered with silver snowflakes and looked nothing like clothing haphazardly cut by a knife. Her breeches seemed thick and warm but clung to her shapely legs and her boots had thick soles with tiny metal grips for the ice and snow, _perfect for crushing a man’s skull in_. It was hard to ignore her beauty when she wore men’s clothing, it was harder when she refashioned women’s clothing to fit her needs. 

“You shouldn’t be awake at this hour” her eyes despite how she smiled looked tired. 

“Nonesense, if you’re  is still leafing through pages of numbers I should help, I’ve only become exceedingly better with numbers throughout the years” he knew there was no arguing with her, so he picked up one paper with grain counts sent from Deepwood Motte to her. she graced at the pale before sighing and placing one of her hands on her hip. 

“Jon, you’ve already read through this three times, look, you’ve scribbled all over the margins. You’ve done your duty, and you need to sleep” _I don’t want to sleep_ he wished to say, the arms of death could not reach him if his eyes were open. When his nights weren’t dark he inhabited Ghost, and often times that was worse. He hated hearing Ghost’s thoughts of Nymeria. 

“I can’t Arya…please…I can’t” his voice didn’t sound like a King’s it sounded brittle, and more like the voice of a child holding back their tears. 

“Jon, you’ll die. You’ve been awake for two entire nights, if you don’t sleep you'll die” _death_. It always seemed to return to that didn’t it, fight The Others to avoid death, fight the Bolton bastard to stop the death of his house. He wondered what it would be like to remain dead, truly dead and not suspended in Ghost’s body. Would he see father, would he see Robb, Bran, Rickon, Sansa, maybe Lady Catelyn too. He didn’t know.

“Jon, please” she seemed just as weak as him, just as tired and cynical. He couldn’t leave her alone. Sighing deeply he placed he letter from Ed on the desk and leaned backwards on his chair, Arya stood from her seat. One of her hands gripped his and he could feel how cold her thin fingers were, returning her grip he pulled her close towards him. She settled oh his lap and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his other arm around her she breathed against his skin as he buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like the fallen leaves of the Weirwood. She felt like wolfs fur and pinecones. She smelt like home. 

They stayed there, for a long time wrapped in the others arms, not saying a word. Away from the world that seemed determined to destroy them and instead they burrowed into the tiny castles they built in the other’s heart. She shifted in his lap, and his blood rushed about his veins, he quickly realised that their position was compromising and improper. _Honourable men do not cradle their sister atop their laps like this_. 

“Arya. We should go, to our chambers” he felt her nod against his neck and did not move. _Does it pain you to peel yourself away from me as it does me?_ He felt sick, his father did not raise him to be like this. She stood from his lap but she kept her hand in his. Her skin had warmed, her cheeks seemed to be flushed from the heat of the hearth. A maiden of surpassing loveliness.

Hand in hand they walked in silence towards their chambers, he moved their joined hands under their cloaks so it would not rouse suspicion. The Lord’s chamber remained locked, the key on a loose board under Arya’s bed, neither of them could bring themselves to look at their Father’s room. Their old rooms had been used by Bolton men, tainted, Arya said it no longer felt like her room, that it no longer smelled like a wolf’s den. The two of them moved instead to one of the towers, their rooms were situated at the very top. Jon’s chamber belong to the Old King’s of Winter, the oak doors were heavy and hard to open, but once it was wedged open it led to a large room with a bed, desk, and bookshelf filled with books. Arya’s room was next door, both of the rooms were set up with in the exact same manner and a single locked door conjoined the rooms. Jon thanked the gods that the door’s lock was too rusted to actually open. It would cause an uproar amongst the Northern Lords if they ever thought the siblings would have unmonitored access to each other in the night. Gods they would behead him if knew what he felt, they would march to kill him like they marched to kill the last Snow they believed dishonoured Ned’s Little Girl. 

He walked past his door towards her’s determined to not let go of her hand until he had to. They paused and she looked at him, and leaned forward tucking her head under his chin. _Sweet Little Sister_. Pressing his lips firmly against her forehead he gave her a kiss, and let go of her hand. 

“Sleep well Little Wolf”

“Sleep well Jon” 

He walk towards his room and entered. Peeling off the layers of clothes. He was left in his under clothes as he reached for a soft cotton undershirt and night breeches. his furs were warm and inviting so he slipped beneath them and was engulfed in the softness. These furs made for a King, _I shouldn’t have a crown on my head, It’s not my birthright_. 

He lay in bed, his heavy eyes, closed shut as he drifted into sleep. The darkness wrapped itself round him and for the first time in a while he felt too tired to dream, too tired to become Ghost, too tired to be anything but dead to the world for a few hours   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He woke earlier than most of the castle, wearing traditional Northern clothing and a heavy fur cloak he walked out of the room and down the tower towards the Crypts as he did every morning. He payed his respects to the dead plucking a winter roses from the garden and placing them in the stone palms of the dead. Robb’s statue was the newest, his body was yet to be found but he and Arya insisted The North not forget their last king. Besides Ned was a statue dedicated of Lady Catelyn her hands tucked into the crook of his Father’s arm as she gazed ahead with unfamiliar kindness in her eyes. He almost commissioned statues from Bran, Rickon, Sansa, and Uncle Benjen but Arya insisted that their statues were yet to be needed. She had hope that he did not. 

He gave four statues a rose, his brother, his father, his stepmother, and his aunt Lyanna. She looked like Arya, she seemed to have the same nose, the same jawline and even the bows of their lips looked the same. It unnerved him, it filled him with fear to notice that Arya’s statue seemed to already be placed in the crypts before she was born. Deep from the shadows he heard a whisper, beyond where them family he knew lay, he turned and quickly stalked out of the crypts. He did not need to hear the Kings of Winter telling him he did not belong. Once he emerged he realised that he did not read his prayers upon the dead. The castle was starting to wake, with servants starting to run into the kitchen no doubt getting ready to prepare the morning meal. He walked towards the shadows, and stalked in the direction of his room out of their sight. 

His crown was placed on a small wooden pillar beside the table dresser they had insisted he needed. He didn’t like the crown, it made him uncomfortable, it was not meant to be on his head, he couldn’t quite put it into words. He managed to make it to his chambers and grab his crown placing it on his head. The heavy weight of the metal ringlet and the burden of all The North settled on his head. _You don’t like it_ because c _rowns are a cruel reminder of what you will use should you fail ruling is a difficult duty and not a prize to be sought_. His head whipped to the side, staring at the door between his room and Arya’s. 

 _It’s against the laws of warging to invade a man’s mind Arya_. He waited for her response, a small smile on his lips. 

 _We do all do things that are against the rules Jon_. He shuddered, they did do things that many would frown upon, they killed in ways people would frown upon, but he knew there were some lines that could not be crossed, he knew he should stay out of her mind. A soft knock sounded at his door.

“Enter” he stood straight _tall like a king, proud like a wolf_ her whisper persisted in his mind before she faded away.  

“Your Grace, Lord Manderly has requested to meet with you, he says that it is rather important” his Steward George stood at the door, a thin man with the face of a mere child.

“Of course, tell him to meet me at my solar after he has his morning meal, I myself and Princess Arya will break our fasts in my solar, please tell her to meet me there, we have important papers to go through”

“Of course Your Grace” with a nod and bow, he quickly retreated from the room and Jon made the way to his solar. He must stared at that crown for quite awhile, while he was musing most of the castle had awoken, it was quieter than it used to be. Most of the old inhabitants of Winterfell had died, although miraculously Old Nan had survived, withered old, and half blind, she sat in a rocking chair in Bran’s old room, embroidering wolves, snowflakes, and little image of squirrel people and dragon wings. 

His solar was his father’s he had to use it, it was the one the Kings of Winter had used, and it had documents too old to move through the rough terrain outside to the tower. the candles were lit, and the hearth was blazing, the papers he left the night before were still there, Arya’s cloak was still thrown over the chair and the box of marriage proposals sat in the corner, and seemed to be leering at him, the voices of every bachelor asking for her hand seemed to be asking for his attention. 

The door swung open and Arya came walking in, followed by maids with two bowls of thick porridge, a loaf of bread, two cups, and a jug filled with boiling hot water and a small bowl with dried leaves and a metal spoon. Arya had a small glass container in her hands and a tiny metal spoon. 

“Please just set that on the table” Arya smiled at the maids who quickly rushed everything to the table carefully setting the papers aside.

“Enjoy your morning meal Your Graces” the bowed as they turned to exist the room

“Thank you, have a lovely day” the women turned their heads to Arya, spurred to have been noticed, their smiles changed, from practiced smiles of servitude the genuine smiles. 

“Be sure to eat yourselves” He knew food was scarce, and he needed his people to be fed.

“Thank you Your Graces” they exited the room. 

Arya put out the two empty cups before her spooning in small quantities of the dried green powder from her glass bowl and pouring the hot water on top. A foreign smell filled the room, it was like warmth, comfort, and something else.

“It’s a tea, a drink the courtesans of Braavos taught me about, I’ve developed quite the taste for it” Jon clenches his fists, yes tea. He knew of the tea drunk by courtesans and prostitutes alike, green drinks like the one before Arya that killed a man’s seed. _Who's seed did his dear sister wish to expel from her womb?_  

“Arya, is that Moon tea?” his voice was grave, maybe he needed to head the the smithy to the Baratheon boy, or maybe to the Dornish knight that refused to go home and decided to stand two feet behind Arya almost all the time. His knuckles whitened, _I’ll kill them like I killed my turncloak brothers_. A laughed filled the room and Arya rested her face in her hands trying to stifle the giggles escaping her.

“Moon tea? By the Gods Jon, why on earth would a maiden need Moon tea, and why on earth would I make you a cup of such a liquid? Is there a man’s seed you need to expel from you womb Jon?” his face flushed in embarrassment, but his heart rate quickened, she was a maiden. Somehow a girl with her face remained a maiden. 

“Here try some, this is called green tea, it’s good for you, add some honey or it may be too bitter for your taste” she held out the cup to him along with a spoon of honey. He took it from her and dipped the spoon in the unusual green liquid, swirling around until the golden trails were consumed by the vast green. He raised the cup to his lips and swallowed. Warmth entered his body, he imagined he felt like what the cold walls of Winterfell must have when Bran the Builder first sent the water of the hot springs rushing through them. He sighed, the taste was slightly bitter but the sweetness of the honey clung to his tongue. 

“It’s good” he smiled and opened his eyes to see Arya, she was dressed like him, her hair knotted like his. Staring at her face reminded him of the statue beneath the castle, dread filled him, would he have to bury her like he had to bury all other things that he loved? He prayed not. 

They silently ate their porridge and ripped their loaf of bread, dipping it into their cups of tea before biting the warm loaf. The silence was a good silence, a companionable silence. 

“Jon” Arya’s voce cut through the silence like a blade “why didn’t you let me bend the knee to you when you were crowned?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect to update in the space of four days, but apparently when I put pen to paper ( or rather hand to keyboard) words came pouring out like water from a tap. Once more I hoped you enjoyed this, seeing that this is expanded from what was originally a one shot there will be some expositional passages but I hope you don't mind.  
> 1\. Why do you think he didn't let Arya bend the knee?  
> 2\. What do you think will eventually happen to the 'proposal pit'?  
> Have a lovely day  
> Queen Jonrya


	3. The Brewing Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good news is delivered and the seeds of a storm are planted.

**Arya Stark**

She gave him the crown, she removed Robb’s crown from her head and delicately placed it on his. The lords all raised their swords and fell to one knee, but as she made her move to kneel Jon placed both his hands beneath her forearms and pushed upwards making it clear he did not want her to bend the knee. 

She wanted to serve. She did not like the idea of kneeling, of physically lowering herself below someone, but this wasn’t anyone, it was Jon, and Arya followed him the way Ghost did Nymeria. It hurt that he insisted she did not kneel, it seemed that he was everyone’s king but her own and that burned her soul. 

“Do you not want my loyalty Jon?” Her cold hands were warmed by the warm cup of tea that she held. 

“Arya, I do want your loyalty, I know I have it but I just couldn’t let you” his fingers tapped against his cup with no rhythm as he seemed to tense before her. “You’re a true born daughte-“

“Jon, I don’t care if you're a bastard, you’re supposed to be my king, the first king I have chosen to follow of my own will. I don’t care about birthrights, valar doheris, all men must serve and I wish to serve you” her voice wobbled slightly, she face she trained to keep stoic slipped, letting the fear of rejection slip through.   

“I can’t have you bending the knee to me, it means your below me, I refuse that. The lords and ladies may bend their knees Arya but you are not a subject, you're my pack-mate” he sighed heavily and leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his face far closer to her’s than before. 

“Jon”

“I remember the day I first saw you Arya. You were a loud babe, if you were not asleep you cried so loudly the maester had to give you drinks to put you to sleep, for fear of you rupturing your throat. Robb said you were frightful, and that you tried to rip the auburn locks out of his scalp the moment you saw him. Sansa stormed out the room with a thin red scratch on her face crying,  and your mother looked exhausted, she loved you and refused to leave your side even when your ability to avoid sleep was godly. Father grinned a lot, you never cried if he was holding you and for awhile half of Winterfell was convinced he was a madman, this babe had not been in the castle for a week and it was more infamous than Cregan Stark himself.” He chuckled.

“When father came to my chambers one morning and asked me if I wanted to meet you I nearly cried out of fear. From what I heard you were as terrifying as The Others themselves. I refused to be a craven and waited before the heart tree like father told me. I remember kneeling and praying that you would be mine, a sibling who looked like me the way Sansa looked like Robb.”  His eyes were glazed over as he imagined the screen he was vividly describing to her, one of his hands moved to her wrist, circling where her blood flowed the strongest. 

“You were whimpering quietly in a bundle of furs as father cradled you in his arms, he knelt before me and I saw your face. Your cheeks were tinged in pink and your eyes were tightly shut, I reached out and touched your cheek, and you whined before opening your eyes and staring right into my soul. For the first time in my life I felt like I was home. Father told me that you were mine to protect. To love you above all else, he didn’t need to, I remember reaching out and holding you in my arms, your weight settling upon me. The you gurgled, your very first laugh was mine.” His left eye crinkled in the corner as a soft smile settled on his chapped lips. 

 “You can’t  kneel before me because I’ve been kneeling before you since the very day I met you. You tried to hold my finger in your little hand but instead you grasped by soul” his face grew so very somber, his eyes looked more like the eyes of a nostalgic old man.  

“Kings do not kneel before anyone”

“I am no king, you are Robb’s true heir the lords only choose me because I am a man. Were you a boy they would have chosen the true born son of Ned over his legitimised bastard” his hand ran up her wrists sliding into her palms and wrapping themselves around her in a warm embrace, they were strong hands, his fingers were thicker than her’s and each of his hand’s dwarfed her’s. There would never be kneeling between them. 

“We do not kneel” the word of the Freefolk slipped from her tongue with ease and his eyes seemed to darken as they searched her face.

“Aye, you are my equal little sister, we rule together” his thumb moved in circles over her knuckles, loosening the tension that coiled within her and gave her sense of completion. _Even Queens bowed before their King’s_ , unequal to their husbands yet she was on the same footing as a deathless monarch. She felt the familiar weight of his voice drilling into the side of her mind before his voice rang out clearly in her head _you will always be more than a queen_. Her eyes locked onto his. 

“I thought you said warging each others mind’s was against the laws of The Old Gods”

“I suppose we take liabilities in regards to one another” his hands tightened and a shiver ran down her spine. 

 _Liabilities_ , her mind swam with images of the liabilities she would like him to take, with his eyes, his lips, the fingers that gripped her. She pressed her thighs together tightly, the air between them became thick and heavy, the wolf within her stirred, she leaned forward resting her forehead against his. _I want you, I think I will die if I don’t have you_ , a part of her wanted him to hear her pleas, and another was glad he did not. The heavy footsteps across the corridor caught her attention and she quickly drew away before a light knock disturbed the silence. The maids rushed in quickly collecting their half eaten loafs, and tea. 

‘Lord Manderly will be coming to talk to us in a moment” Jon stood shifting his chair to the side, “move your chair to my side of the desk, we’ll meet him together, and I’ll need your council in regards to whatever he brings to us” her heart soared, she was a king’s trusted councillor. quickly standing she moved her chair to Jon’s side of the table, and a knock sounded at the door. 

“Your Grace, Lord Manderly has come to greet you” Jon’s steward opened the door allowing the greying lord to walk through. He held thick scrolls in his hands, and had lines of grim determination on his face as he walked to his chair a stood before the Northern monarchs. 

“Your graces, I think I may have fantastic news” dropping all but one scroll he stood proudly before unfurling it. A large map of the east coast of The North,  stood before them with red markings. 

“What is it my lord?” Jon spoke with authority as she quickly proceeded to read the map, a large red cross was placed on the wild island of Skagos. 

“Your youngest brother, Rickon, we may have located the Lost Prince. There has been talk, of a wild red-haired boy, with a great black dire wolf roaming the island of Skagos with a Wildling” she glanced at the map intently, _dear gods Rickon, baby Rickon is so close_. “I would like to seek your permission to send men to the island to search for him, although I suppose we will need to take one of your wildlings, one who speaks the Old Tongue”. 

Arya moved her hands beneath the table gripping and grabbed Jon’s hand. She reached out to his mind with the warm orange thread of energy that stretched from her breast to his _I can go Jon, Tormund and a few other Freefolk taught me to speak the tongue with the fluency of a native. I can go_. He tensed as he heard her thoughts, _I don’t believe that to be a good idea, I need you here_. She sighed internally, _In that case recommend sending Tormund to translate, send Davos also, he misses being aboard a ship and he will ensure that everyone acts responsible and in a timely manner_. He glanced at her before turning to Lord Manderly.  

“We’ll give you the men you need my lord. I’m sure my sister can show you the men who can give you the most assistance. I trust her judgement” Jon nodded towards her and got ready to stand. 

“My King, there are also a few other issues” Arya glanced at the fallen scrolls the Lord quickly gathered, he picked one from the lot, a dark cream parchment, with his house seal prominently featured. “White Harbour is the maid trading port in all of The North, a city that has contributed so much to Northern economy” his gaze shifted to Arya, as he quickly ran his eyes over her body, stopping to gaze at her breasts and then her narrow waist before looking back at Jon. “We hope House Stark would be _appreciative_ of our contribution to both our legacies. I shall hope to talk to your sister another time about the men for the mission. I thank you for your time Your Graces” he stood quickly before bowing and exiting the room. A meeting that had her hopeful made her feel dread instead. 

Her hands itched as she reached out for the scroll and broke the seal, a marriage proposal. She glanced at Jon, a dark expression was on his face. 

“I think this is the first marriage proposal since we’ve retaken Winterfell” her eyes fell over the page. Full of flattery, subtle self praise, the entitlement and belief that she was a payment for their loyalty to House Stark. She scoffed “they would like you to sell them my cunt for how awfully loyal they have been”

“We took them in when they were chased from the South, their Houses survival should be payment enough” Jon stood grabbing the scroll from her hands and moving to a chest in the corner of the room, retrieving a key from his pocket he opened it and threw it into a large pile of scrolls. “It’s not the first proposal, it’s the hundred and fiftieth” her head spun, she doubted the North had one hundred houses let alone one hundred and fifty. Her feet took her to the chest where she peered down. 

“Why do you have a chest of proposals?” 

“I thought you’d rather not be bothered with men who expect me to pawn you off for alliances” the parchment in his hand wrinkled from the force he held it with. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me? That one hundred and fifty men asked for my hand in marriage. This could escalate into a political disaster Jon, if the Lords think that we look down on them, or that there is no way to have solid alliances with us. Fuck, have you written back to any of them?”

“No” she held her head in her hands. 

“What did you hope would happen? That every lord would assume their ravens died in storms? or perhaps they would forget that two unwed wolves roam the halls of Winterfell”

“Arya” she sighed, he was protecting her, and in his desperation to do so opening himself to attacks. 

“Thank you…we’ll deal with the consequences later, I may need to smile more sweetly for a while but first we’ll focus on Rickon” he shut the chest and looked at her. 

“Do you think he is truly alive?” his voice was hoarse

“I hope so, I truly hope so.”    

*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

“Princess Stark” Edric Dayne, stood besides her his skin grew paler in the North. He grew up from an angelic child to a handsome man, with a strong jawline, and his pale hair and violet eyes were rare in the north drawing a lot of attention to him. The kitchen maids often whispered of how they wished to bed the knight. 

“My Lord, I think we’re close enough that there is no need for such formalities between us” she grinned as she looked at how his hand seemed to grip his sword hilt “have you taken it upon yourself to protect me?”

“My Lady, Lord Manderly was saying the most vile things of how he would ‘tame the she-wolf after he returned the true king’. I though it wise to make sure he is never close enough to try dishonouring you” she grinned at her trusted friend. 

“You could spend your time having your pick of girls in Winterfell and yet you choose to protect someone who can kill anyone who tries to harm her” he flushed a deep pink as his eyes darted around in search of the girls that tried to win his attention. 

“Your Grace, I must admit the attention is rather terrifying. I fear offending these girls, one cried when I refused, I tried to explain that I would not bed a woman I have not taken before a heart tree, but she cried harder. I feel quite uneasy with the attention, you would not believe what a lady of the free folk said to me…it was rather intimidating, _and I once served a man who oft returned from the dead_ ” a chuckle left her.

“You are truly a sweet man Ned, the world would be better if more men were like you”

“You give me too much credit dear friend” he was cute from rare stone she noticed, brave, bloody, and kind, despite how much darker he was when in battle he was normally as soft as Nymeria’s warm fur. 

“You think to lowly of yourself. Maybe you should partake in the occasional bragging”

“I have no skill that anyone could not gain through training” she grinned Ned was a good friend, and one of the few nobles who understood working hard, pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into every ability they have. Deep in her pocket an iron coin burned. _Blood, sweat, and tears everything you have you earn_. 

“Edric, I mean no disrespect, but why don’t you return to Starfall? It’s your home, and I know you miss it dearly” they stopped walking and she turned toward the knight, having to tilt her head upwards in order to maintain eye contact. 

“It’s home, but, I haven’t been there for so long. I was twelve when I left, it’s been more than five years and my aunt has done a good job running everything, and I don’t know if it would be home anymore, not after I spent so many years as an outlaw” it seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders, she raised a hand to his cheek, it seemed she found the best of company amongst tortured sould. His eyes were beautiful, the pale light of the sun caught the tiny specks of sapphire that swirled in his purple pupils. 

“Things will be different when you return to normal castle life. But if you can never bring yourself to go to Starfall, Winterfell can always be your home”

“You are too kind, my princess, you and your brother are determined to house everyone without a home” he smiled as he looked towards the people milling the courtyard, men, woman, and children from every walk of life. 

“When I was in Braavos someone told me that it was a city that was built by people who had lost everything, slaves with no homes, refugees who fled death at the hands of dragon lords. Winterfell and Winter Town will be that bacon of hope in Westeros, a hope for the homeless, the beaten, and the damned” she gazed off to the distance where Nymeria started her trek towards her. 

“A truly noble cause” his voice was a whisper as Nym stood beside her lazily pushing her snout against Ned’s hand before licking Arya’s. 

“it’s the right thing to do. Come with me My Lord, my baby brother be alive and we need to inform a few people that they’ll be joining Lord Manderly” he prickled at the sound of the Lord’s name. “You need not worry sweet friend, if he tries to dishonour me you have permission to behead him”. 

“I will deliver his head to the king myself if he tried to do such a thing” his face grew serious as he clutched the hilt of his sword.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Redbeard!” Tormund turned around to look at the she-wolf as he polished his weapon.  

“She-wolf! Are you here to bless us with your singing, or would you like to engage in a bloody skirmish. Ah I see you are joined by my favourite southern flower” he gestured to Ned with a grin on his face. 

“Nothing of the sort Redbeard, I would like to hand you an important mission, walk with me” the hulking man stood, strapping his battle-axe to his back. 

“So what mission would you like to send me on?”

“Both you an Davos will go with Lord Manderly, my brother may be in the island of Skagos, and I need you to go and translate for them, they cannot speak the old tongue and thus would not be able to talk to the Skagosi. There's a woman with him, of the free folk, seeing one of her people would also ease her into a sense of comfort. If she has looked after my brother for all these years we owe her a great deal of gratitude”

“Another wolf? After everything you family has been through it’s a miracle any of yo survived”

“The wolves will come again Tormund, and when we rise from the ashes stronger than ever, our allies will be protected”

“You are people of honour”“We are first men like you, our way is the old way” the man itched his beard as he pondered on her words. 

“I will help, you brother saved our people, we owe your house our lives” she smiled and a small sigh of relief left her. 

“Thank you, I would have gone myself but we have alot of governing to do and we have to call all the Lords for a grand meeting” he smiled at her with his crooked teeth. 

“I’ve seen you Warg wolves, I’ve seen your bother return from the dead, The Old Gods truly care for you house, the fact that the last dire wolves are in your possession is proof enough"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hoped you enjoyed this, there will be chapters written from the POV of other characters. But onto the contents of this chapter:  
> 1\. So Arya seems to understand why Jon has a proposal pit, but what do you think the political ramifications of such a thing would be?  
> 2\. Friendship is an important thing. Do you like the relationship between Edric and Arya? Where do you think it'll go?  
> 3\. Tormund seems to think the Starks are blessed by the Old Gods and their ability to warg and possession of rare creatures as signs of this. Do you have any personal head cannon on the relationship between the Starks and religion?  
> I plan on writing longer chapters with more politics in the future although that would take more than a week considering my schedule.  
> Be sure to follow my Tumblr(www.QueenJonrya.tumblr.com) where I will post sneak peaks at chapters before they're up.  
> As always have a lovely day  
> -Queen Jonrya


	4. Of Fireflies and Legacies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Young Viper broods in Dorne, as he mulls over what it means to be a Dragon when you've felt like a Snake all your life.

**Aegon VI Targaryen**

The humid air forced his hair to curl and sweat rolled down him as he swung his sword. His cousin Nymeria was fierce and ruthless, and even with the anger rolling off of him in waves he barely managed to parry against her effectively.

“You seem to be really slow today dear cousin, tell me is the Dragon’s blood weakening you innate Dornish strength? I would not blame you, it’s not your fault your ancestors wed brother to sister, such marriages oft do produce weaklings, the blame lays clearly with your grandparents” she liked gloating but her words did not make him angry but rather defensive instead.  

“I am no Targaryen, I’m a Martell of Sunspear” he chuckled as he blocked the blow from her small blade and nicked her the skin of her inner wrist.  

“Hah! Our uncle wants you to sit the throne, if you said such a thing before him or Connington their veins may pop from anger” he sighed and stopped sparring, stepping as safe distance away from her blade, before moving to sit on the floor, the red sand clinging to his robes.     

“ _I am a Martell_ , my mother, the woman who birthed me was Dornish, My father was Dornish, I don’t care how much they yell about me being the seed of the dragon prince. Oberyn was my father” he sighed and cradled his head in his hands. “Why should I carry the legacy of a man who did not give a single shit about my mother? I don’t want to marry Arianne. Any good I do will be used to praise a man who would have let my head get crushed while my mother died below me. I refuse for my life to be used to honour a cunt who was too busy _fucking his Northern whore_ to even think about his family!” Nymeria sighed and moved to sit beside her cousin as the sun set over the plain, tinting the sky hues of red and pink small fireflies flew about in the distance creating a light show before them. 

“You know the Lannisters are evil, they killed our father, terrorised everyone one, look at that they did to the Starks Your father stealing Lyanna is nothing compared to what the Lions did to them”

“I hate the fucking Starks” he though of what she would look like, the woman who made his father turn on his wedding vows, what face did the witch have to make a man give up all honour? 

“We don’t blame the innocent in Dorne remember that. The girl may have been a Stark but her family suffered for your father’s action just like ours. Besides, everyone knows the dragons are mad, even the greatest of them are a little unhinged. Your father was no different”. He looked down in shame, it was not fair to blame a woman who had her life ruined by Rheagar, she did not choose her fate, the dragons had destructive madness in their veins.

“Beside, father said Lord Eddard Stark tried to defend your mother, and begged for justice. You may hate the man whose seed created you, the gods know I hate him too, regardless tomorrow you will have to wash the dye from your hair and reveal yourself.  Someone has to do the right thing, someone with a heart has to rule over us. You can lead us into a new dawn” she hugged her him.

Tomorrow he would lose what little freedom he had. He suddenly wished that his mother broke her vows just like his father, he wished he had no claim to the Iron Throne. He prayed that Arthur Dayne had forgotten his vows one night, and that he was truly the son of Dorne, the Dyanes were of the blood of the first men, but they had ashen blonde hair like he did. It was a fruitless dream, he knew his mother loved the Valeryian fool, and he knew he never loved her half as much.  

“It should be Rhaenys, she was born first, and she actually likes telling people what to do, they should let her rule” his voice was barely a broken whisper. 

“They would never follow a woman, the rest of the world is not like Dorne”

“Then I suppose the rest of the world is stupid.” 

The pinks of the sky darkened from purple, to navy, then black. The light of the fireflies became stronger and the stars seemed to hang closer to the land than usual. He hoped one of them was his mother, and the children who died to save his family, he prayed they looked down on him with smiles. He cradled the small ring hanging from his neck. a dainty golden band, carved on it was his sigil, the bright sun pierced by a spear. _Help me mother, I have not ruled a day and I am already too tired, give me a reason to do this._  

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sun light streamed into his bed chambers in golden rays that roused him from his sleep. Today would be the day he stopped being Arron Sand and became Aegon Targaryen. He groggily stood and quickly wrapped himself in silk robes before quietly stalking out of his room to visit his sister. She too would sacrifice the name Elia Sand to reclaim Rhaenys. His stood before the bronze door and turned the knob and slipped inside. 

“Elia” he whispered, her curtains were drawn shut and only a thin sliver of sunlight entered her room. 

“Is everything okay little brother?” her voice sounded horse, and as pained as his soul he walked over and lay down next to his sister, who then turned to softly stroke his dyed hair. There was not a great age gap between them, but she was the closest thing he had to a mother. He remembered the times she used to rock him to sleep while whispering of their mother and how graceful and kind she was. 

“I don’t want to leave home. I know I am a true born Targaryen but the dragons are no friends of mine. I don’t want this duty, to when I can be a Martell” his sister paused he could feel the bed dip under her weight as she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around him as though he was a toddler. He thought tears would stream down his cheeks but he held them back. 

“Then do not view it as a duty. Make it our revenge. I heard the whispers in the corridors of the Red Keep. The Targaryen loyalists did not ever plan to save us and mother. They whispered of how they’d save the Targaryens on Dragonstone, ‘the true children of the Dragon’. They whispered of leaving us to die. One man said we were children of Rheagar, that you were the true heir to the throne. Yet they silenced him ‘he is not Targaryen, he is the child of a Dornish whore’. I don’t care if our aunt to the east has dragons. They saved her because they viewed us as foreigners in our own home. Take that throne brother, and make it clear to them, our mother was better than any of them could ever be. Dornishmen are more Westerosi than those Valyrian invaders”. She held him tighter and rested her chin atop the crown of his head. “House Targaryen has done nothing but bring fire and blood to the shores of this nation brother. Something about it is rotten. We have to cleanse this land of our ancestors wrongdoings. It’s not fair, but you can enjoy bringing anguish to those who chose to sacrifice us for their perfect Valyrians”. He nodded as something unfurled within him. His step knew him well to appeal to his honour and his anguish at the same time. But he prayed for reasons everyday and this was one, they could hail him as Rhaegar’s son all they like, but he would end the legacy of the man who destroyed his mother. 

“I shall wear black and red robes in the afternoon, make sure to do the same sister. We have to look our finest for our people”

“You already sound like a ruler”

“I am not, but I want you as my council, you are better at leading than I, I will be in dire need of your advise.” He smiled softly at his sister, and she grinned at her brother's sentiments ruffling his hair. 

“You doubt yourself too much little brother”

“I still don't want to marry Arianne, I don’t know how I’ll get out of that one”

“We’ll find a way brother. Keep in mind that which our cousin truly loves”. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   

Breakfast was a tense affair. Uncle Doran was clearly plotting and planning what he would do, Aegon wondered of he could sense the aversion to marrying Arianne. He seemed like he could, Doran while confined to a wheelchair had formidable insight into people’s souls. He did everything tactically even scooping food onto his spoon. 

Arianne could not sense Aegon’s want to flee her company, or perhaps she did but hid it carefully under the guise of innocent seduction. He knew she was beautiful, he would be blind to not see it, but he did not want to be with someone who did not make his heart stir with life, someone’s who's very touch would reach past his flesh and into his soul, where they would mark him as theirs. Arianne was not that person, not in the very least.

“Dear cousin, I hope you’re not awfully nervous about today, I know I would be” she was lying, she loved power and captivating people’s attention was a form of that. 

“No” he lied back to her, there would never be any truths between them. He wondered if he could end their betrothal before it was announced, perhaps ask a maester to check she was a maiden. He sighed internally, to do such a thing would be dishonourable, who was he to shame her for not saving herself for marriage when he himself had not? Beside the maester was loyal to his uncle and would swear she was untouched like the snow of the peaks of the highest mountains. 

“That’s good, I do not doubt you will be a good king, you care about everyone, I remember that time you threatened to hit my brother for mistreating a maid. You are truly valiant cousin. The Young Viper they call you, and for good reason” she moved her hand to his shoulder, and widened her eyes to feign innocence. She wanted power. How does one convince such a person away from a tiara? 

“I am glad you believe in me cousin, now if you will excuse me, I will need to go to my room to prepare myself for the reveal” he smiled brightly before turning to his uncle and nodded to confirm he heard him. Standing up he exited the room, a game was being played and chess pieces were being pushed around a board. He picked up his piece and moved one square.

He would not be a pawn when he was meant to be king. He entered his room and glanced at the window where a single dragonfly flew. It had magnificent wings that seemed to shift between purple and green with each flap, it danced around the air outside his window before it suddenly stopped moving and came to a still. It’s wings stiffened and it fell from the sky. Deep inside his head the echo of eardrums rang, for a moment he felt  a terrible chill upon his skin. He shut his eyes and it felt like looking into a broken looking glass. Shard with images of blue eyes, grey eyes, and violet eyes, two of each eye colour on six different faces. He opened his eyes and stared at his chest of robes, there lay a newly forged crown atop it, a gold circlet with red rubies, and a single amber gem shaped like a burning sun in he centre. A gift from Rhaynes no doubt, he smiled.  _Beneath the dragonhide The Young Viper coiled and hissed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there everyone, I've been really busy and quickly realised that I would have to space out Aegon's chapters if I want the political plot in his arc to play out the way I want. It was also hard to figure out his voice, so tell me what you think.  
> 1\. So what do you think of the Dragons Prince's children associating more with their mother's sigil?  
> 2\. Do you think Rhaenys tale is a possible truth? I've always wondered why people didn't attempt to sae them like they did Visery's and Dany and this is what I've landed on. What do you think of the racism elements of Rhaenys and Aegon's story. I've personally felt that Dornish characters are always coded with slightly racist imagery, especially in terms of people referring to them as dornishmen, when they are Westerosi. As much as I like asoiaf there are a lot of things in terms of race that make me feel uncomfortable. Have you noticed any of these thing?  
> 3\. Are the dragons all mad? I don't think there's a single one of Aery's children that's not unhinged in some capacity. What about you?  
> 4\. How do you think Aegon is going to try to end his betrothal? Will he succeed?  
> Thank you for reading I really do appreciate it :),  
> Queen Jonrya

**Author's Note:**

> This has been reposted from my Tumblr. I think I'm going to writing a part two. To those of you who've read this I hope you enjoyed it :).


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